


To be struck to the bone

by fireatwill52



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Teachers, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-03-14
Packaged: 2017-12-05 06:02:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 17,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/719707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireatwill52/pseuds/fireatwill52
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Les Mis HighschoolTeachers!AU. </p><p>Les Amis High School, in the eyes of newly appointed Music teacher Marius Pontmercy, is the best place in the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Marius

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic decided to happen in the month that my Thesis was due. Therefore please forgive everything that's wrong with it. Takes place throughout the entire school year, with each chapter a few months or weeks apart.  
> Chapters are a little short, may end up taking it down at a later point and add to it, but for now I think of it as complete.  
> Thanks to my BFF Nick for editing!  
> Hope you enjoy and thanks for reading!  
> (Also I haven't written fanfiction (all my old stuff is published under this pen-name on ff.net if anyone cares) since I was like 16/17/18?? That was at least 5 years ago... so please be kind?)

Marius sat trembling in his seat at the table in the centre of the staff-room, huddled in his blue and grey plaid coat, gazing desperately at the cup of tea in his hands, and feeling more than a little out of his depth. On his left, the wild haired man in shorts and a painfully orange t-shirt, who’d introduced himself with a screaming grin and an enthusiastic handshake as Courfeyrac, was chatting to him animatedly.

“You‘re going to love it here! Small classes mean much more one on one, which I personally think is fantastic. Real small classes though, only one per year level per subject, except for English and Math. It’s a great school though, got a lot of spirit. More importantly, we have drinks in here every Friday. Hell, even Javert lets lose a little. Have you met Javert? One of the math teachers? Big scowly bloke, fond of getting right up in your personal space and shouting?” Marius decided not to remark on the fact that Courfeyrac had draped himself over his shoulders and was not even pretending to sit properly in his seat next to him.

“- do some introductions,” Courfeyrac regained Marius’ nervously fleeting attention as he waved a hand at the far end of the table. “Down the end we’ve got Jean Prouvaire, the most bestest English teacher ever, and yes those are real flowers in his hair, his favourites are irises and yellow carnations. Well actually his favourite of all are pink hydrangeas, but they’re far too big to put in his hair.” The delicate looking auburn haired man looked up, blushing, and fluttered a few fingers in greeting. “Then Combeferre, Classics teacher, philosopher extraordinaire and my wonderful flatmate, who makes the best, and I mean the best pancakes ever.” The big man had an elbow leaning on the table, and calmly appraised Marius with slightly raised eyebrows and a faint smile, his chin resting on his hand. “Grantaire…” the mop of black hair covered in a red beanie didn’t stir from where it lay on the table by Combeferre’s elbow. “Art teacher. Don’t try to get any positivity out of him; he practically sucks it out of the room. He survives on alcohol, cigarettes and self-loathing.” The man still didn’t move and Marius wondered if he was alright, but no one else seemed concerned, so he moved his eyes to the next figure, a nervous looking man who frowned down at Courfeyrac’s finger pointed in his face. “Joly, teaches Biology, which is a right laugh cos he’s an utter hypochondriac. Don’t sneeze around him, he’ll have a heart attack. His boyfriend Bossuet isn’t here yet, probably got in like 3 car accidents on the way, terribly accident prone but a lovely bloke. Teaches chemistry, of all things. Wonders never cease.” Joly looked worried, and offered Marius a quiet hello before pulling out his phone and hurrying away from the table, presumably to call his accident prone Bossuet. Courfeyrac carried on airily, “And here we have Miss Eponine Thenardier, who teaches-“ 

But Marius didn’t find out what the wide-eyed Miss Eponine Thenardier taught because the door opened and a god swept through the light of the doorway. His eyes locked instantly on Marius, and he moved into the room with grace that would make angels weep, one hand extended.  
“Marius Pontmercy. I’m Enjolras Patria, the History teacher and head of the Social Sciences department. Get off him, Courf.”

Marius stood to dislodge the P.E. teacher, shook the god’s hand, and then jumped about a foot when a voice from the end of the room rang out, words slurred.  
“Ah, take note, Combeferre! Apollo himself has descended from on high to walk amongst us lesser beings.” Grantaire had stirred, and Marius gaped at him over his shoulder, surprised at the challenge in the stare he directed at Enjolras. Enjolras, to his credit, refused the bait, merely twisted his mouth in distaste at Grantaire’s interruption and inebriated state, and then turned back to Marius.  
“We will talk more later? The staff meeting is about to start.”  
Marius nodded, returning to his seat, and took up his tea cup again just to have something to hold on to. 

Turns out he would need it. The door opened again and his world shifted. A pale, blonde haired girl hurried in, her pastel blue skirt swirling around her knees as she rushed to the head of table to lay down an armload of paper.  
“So sorry we’re late, everyone, Javert was waiting in the parking lot, something about it not being safe for a woman to be alone in a public place? I don’t know, Papa was with me of course, and now they’re arguing, honestly, why he couldn’t wait, I don’t know…” She ran a hand through her long curly hair. Then she caught Marius’ gaze.

She brightened, “Oh! Hello! Mr. Pontmercy?” She darted around the table and took the free seat on his right, stopping him from standing to greet her properly with an elegant hand on his arm.  
“I’m Cosette Valjean, the Dance teacher; it’s lovely to meet you.” Her blue eyes were as pretty as her voice and he was so dumbstruck that he barely registered the entrance of Jean Valjean, the principal, and the infamous Javert.  
“All I’m saying is that if we cut lunch breaks by half an hour…”  
“No, Javert.”  
“Valjean, the productivity levels would increase dramatically, you can’t ignore the logic-”  
“I can and I will. Please sit down, Javert.” Jean Valjean knuckled the bridge of his nose as he took his place at the head of the table, shuffled some of the papers and then peered at them all with tired eyes.

“Good morning, how are we all… only a few matters to discuss… thank the Lord because we’re running out of time…” Javert didn’t seem to notice the glare sent his way, seemingly content to stare suspiciously at Marius from across the table.  
“First and most importantly, please welcome Marius Pontmercy to our little family.” Valjean graced him with a fond smile and bade him stand. He did so, trembling a little, and raised a hand around to everyone in greeting.  
“Marius is joining us as the new Music teacher. I’m sure you’ll all go out of the way to make things as easy as possible for him while he settles in. Why don’t you tell us a little about yourself, Marius?”  
His throat clenched as he opened his mouth, no more tea cup handle to squeeze his anxiety into.

Then, mercifully, the bell rang. Valjean smiled, “Perhaps at lunch then! Cosette, you’ll show Marius to his room?”  
“Of course. You’re right next to me, and Bahorel’s on your other side,” a big, rather terrifying looking man waved happily from the other end of the room. “Don’t hesitate to pop over if there’s anything at all that you need,” Cosette beamed, tucked her arm through his and led him from the room. Marius blushed and tried not to stare too avidly at the way the sunlight created a halo around her hair.


	2. Enjolras

Enjolras frowned. The din from next door had reached unbearable heights and had interrupted his speech on the monstrosity that was the 19th century French government. Excusing himself to his quiet, attentive students he strode to the door that connecting his classroom to the next and booted it open.  
The rabble of art students inside, cluttered around one of their classmates who was, for some unknown reason, wielding a blow-torch, fell silent in an instant as he scowled at them.

“That is quite enough! Grantaire, I’m trying to… Grantaire?”

The man in question was not in the room.

“Oh honestly! Where is he!?”

“Not sure, sir,” one student admitted. The rest merely gaped at him, Enjolras didn’t know why; all art students were quite ridiculously dense, in his book.

“But class started half an hour ago,” Enjolras howled, clutching at his blond curls.

“So what’re you in here harassing my babies for?” Grantaire demanded behind him, from Enjolras’ own classroom. Enjolras whirled on him with a frown.

“I came to tell you to shut them up! I could barely hear myself think in there! Where have you been?”

Grantaire grinned, the sleeves of his torn grey jumper falling back over his ink-stained wrists as he waved his hipflask in Enjolras’ face. 

“Pit stop. Needed a refill.”

“It’s only first period.”

“Exactly. Needed to bolster up my defences.”

“For what? Preparation for another hard day doing absolutely nothing? For God’s sake Grantaire! It’s the 3rd week of term… have you actually taught anything?” Enjolras spat as he brushed past him and strode back to the head of his classroom.

Grantaire didn’t reply, simply continued to grin. Enjolras straightened his red jacket and returned to lecturing his, naturally, captivated class. The history of French politics was a fascinating topic, and he was glad they seemed to share his ardent adoration of it, if their enraptured expressions were anything to go by.  
“As I was saying, the government at this time was an absolute disgrace…” he trailed off as he caught sight of Grantaire again. The shorter man had left the door open, wandered to his desk at the opposite end of his class and now had his feet up on it as he read a magazine and smoked a cigarette, his students no less piercingly loud than before.

He caught Enjolras’ eye and winked. Enjolras stormed to slam the door shut before Grantaire could, god forbid, see him almost smile.

It was only when the bell rang and Enjolras was dismissing his students that he noticed Grantaire was now leaning on the doorframe, drawing in pencil on a sketchpad, his students long gone.

Enjolras put his hands on his hips as the last of his kids left the room, “What are you doing?”

Grantaire didn’t respond, merely scrunched his forehead up in concentration. Enjolras stamped his foot, which made the other man’s blue eyes flicker in his direction in amusement.

“Drawing.”

“Drawing what?”

“You.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re beautiful.”

Enjolras went red and fled to his desk, unsure of how to respond. He settled on grabbing his satchel and rushing to the door, muttering, “You’re so stupid god you can’t just say things like that, it’s completely unprofessional what are you even trying to do...”

Grantaire’s laughter followed him down the hall and kept him wide awake that night, staring at his ceiling, eyes wide.


	3. Jehan

Jehan fiddled with the cuffs of his white poet’s shirt, sipped his peppermint tea, and tried not to giggle at Marius-The-Music-Teacher, who was sitting opposite him.

The other man was clearly afflicted by love, and it only seemed to be getting more intense as the weeks went on; he was pale, trembling, barely ate, did not look as though he slept often, or well, and whenever Cosette entered his vicinity he would audibly squeak, blush and rush to her like she was water and he was a dying man. It was adorable to bear witness to, and in conjunction with Joly and Bossuet’s recently moving in together, which included their coming to work in each other’s clothes, sharing lunches and walking around with their hands in each other’s back pockets, Jehan had been inspired to beg Principal Valjean to alter the curriculum and allow him to teach his students the perfection that was the Romantics this term.

Joly and Bossuet were cuddled up together a few seats down from Marius, sharing a cup of coffee and whispering to each other. It was a challenge to decide which to study, the adorable couple or the enamoured young man across from him, who has just sighed in longing. Luckily, Courfeyrac saved him from making a decision when he came skipping into the room and threw himself onto the table to enact some sort of elaborate death scene next to him.

Jehan stared at him, smiling in anticipation, until Courfeyrac cracked one eye open and grinned at him.

“Hey!”

Jehan giggled at him, and then looked up to see what Marius-The-Music-Teacher made of that little performance. But the other man was gone, darting across the room to Cosette, who had just floated in. They stood close together, gazing at each other and murmuring away about something, not even noticing Eponine brush past them and mumble a greeting. Jehan’s smile widened.

“What’s all this?” Courfeyrac was still sprawled on the table, and when he reached for one of the books on the stack in front of Jehan he only succeeded in knocking them all over.

“Shit! Sorry!”

“THAT IS HEALTH VIOLATION! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!? COURFEYRAC!! I WILL REPORT THIS TO VALJEAN! GET OFF THAT TABLE! HOW MAY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU!!??” Javert looked as though he was having a heart attack, not that that mattered to anyone, but Courf’s ‘health violation’ also seemed to be making Joly uncomfortable, so Courfeyrac sprang up giggling, scooped up Jehan’s pile of books and grabbed his wrist to tow him quickly in his wake.

Jehan laughed to himself as Courf dragged him into the weak morning sunshine, peering down at his tan boots and blushing as the taller man set a course for Jehan’s classroom at the other end of the campus. Courf let his wrist go at some point during the walk, and paused in surprise at coming away with a handful of the daisy chain Jehan had been wearing as a bracelet.

“What…? Oh! I broke it!” Jehan smiled as Courf attempted to juggle an armload of books, and fix the flowers at the same time. The sun was catching the gold lights in his eyes, and his teeth gleamed as he laughed, standing on one foot to balance the books on his knee, trying not to drop everything.

A voice interrupted the rapidly unsuccessful venture; they turned when Enjolras called their names and strode towards them, hair gold and eyes striking. 

“You’ll both come to the cafeteria at lunch, yes? Good.” With that he swept off towards his Social Sciences block, ignoring the wolf-whistle from Grantaire out his window as he entered the building.

Jehan frowned after him, and then jumped a little when Courf grabbed his wrist to reattach the daisy chain with a flourish.

“What was Enjolras talking about?”

“Enjy’s organised some sort of protest at lunch, apparently. Grantaire’s got his class making signs. At least he says he is, but I don’t think they are. I don’t think they really do anything,” Courf murmured reflectively, then paused to shoot Jehan another wide grin as they carried on walking. “Anyway, that’s boring talk. What are you teaching today, Jehan?”

Jehan blushed that Courf would rather hear about his schedule over the opportunity to laugh at Enjolras’ confusing plans. 

“The Romantics.”

“The what?”

“Poets. Of the 18th century. Poetry. English poetry. Wordsworth. Keats. Shelley.”

Courf looked confused, but still beamed excitedly, so Jehan gestured to the stack of books.

Courf grabbed the top copy and flipped it open to a random page, balancing the others precariously on his hip.

“Forlorn!” he read aloud, in a silly, posh voice,   
“The very word is like a bell  
To toll me back from thee to my sole self!  
Adieu! The fancy cannot cheat so well  
As she is fam’d to do, deceiving elf.  
Adieu! Adieu! Thy plaintive anthem fades  
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,  
Up the hill-side; and now ‘tis buried deep  
In the nest valley-glades:  
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?  
Fled is that music: - Do I wake or sleep?”

Jehan couldn’t help but giggle, because Courf looked even more confused. “That’s Keats. He’s very good. But his letters are my real favourite.”  
“His letters?”

Jehan nodded, unable to stop grinning. “He wrote many letters, to his little sister, his dying brother, his friends, his beloved. They were all very sweet.”  
They’d reached Jehan’s classroom by now, the students scurrying in around them to their seats. Courf laid the texts down on his friend’s desk, “Maybe I’ll read them some time. Letters are easier than poetry.”

“Yes!” Jehan laughed and Courf grinned and then the bell rang and sent Courf on his way, waving manically behind him and taking off at a run towards the field. Jehan tried and failed not to stare after him.

The bell for lunch found Jehan heading to the cafeteria, walking with his head tipped back, enjoying the sun on his face. A voice behind him called, and he turned to greet Combeferre.

“You heading to the cafeteria too?” 

“No, got duty with Eponine. But tell Enjy I say keep it calm, OK? I don’t even know what he’s complaining about today… just tell him I say to try and be calm?”

“Sure thing,” Jehan replied, glancing around Combeferre’s shoulder to where Eponine stood in the middle of the courtyard, alternately shouting at Gavroche for throwing dodgeballs too hard at people’s heads, and watching Marius and Cosette head toward the staffroom together, arm in arm.

Combeferre glanced over his shoulder at her too, and sighed when he saw the direction of her gaze. “Better get back to it, Eponine looks as though she could use some… help.”

Jehan nodded and plucked an azalea from his hair, “Give her this? Might cheer her up, a little?”

Combeferre grinned, accepting the flower and squeezing Jehan’s shoulder, “Good idea, thanks Jehan.”

Jehan waved him off and headed into the cafeteria behind a group of giggling 5th form girls.

Enjolras was standing on a cafeteria table, surrounded by his confused yet adamant students, waving a sign that did not have nearly enough glitter, by Jehan’s standards. Not Grantaire’s work, then.

“…Enjy?” Jehan murmured as he came to stand in front of them. “What are you doing?”

“Showing my students the importance of the freedom of speech! They will learn they should not be controlled by false ideals and a corrupt government!”  
“… Oh dear.”

Courf appeared beside Jehan then, grinning excitedly. “This looks like fun! Pass me a sign, Enjy.” Before Jehan could stop him he’d leapt up next to Enjolras and was jumping up and down like a madman, waving his sign and hooting loudly. Joly and Bossuet wandered over too, the former looking worried and wringing his hands as Bossuet let out a cry of glee and scrambled up onto the table to his friends.

The students were all jumping around on the ground below them too, cheering and shouting things like “Justice!” and “Perseverance!” but Jehan couldn't help but notice they did not seem to have any idea what it was exactly that they were protesting for. The rest of the student body looked on in amusement, though mostly they all just seemed to be gazing hopelessly at Enjolras.

“Enjolras!” Poor Valjean came rushing through the cafeteria doors, closely followed by Javert, who looked like he was having an aneurysm.

“Enjolras. What on earth are you doing?”

“Protesting!”

“Protesting? Protesting what?!”

“The state of this school’s government! It’s an atrocity how little power and freedom is offered to the people!”

“What people…? The students? There’s a student government, Enjolras! Hell they’re more useful than I am!”

“We will not be silenced! FREEDOM!” But he was silenced, because the table upon which he had been standing, and Courf and Bossuet so enthusiastically bouncing, gave way under them and sent them all crashing to the ground in a heap of curly hair, plastic and not-glittery signs.

Jehan could hear Grantaire practically pissing himself laughing from the doorway, as he himself carefully removed the signs that had fallen on top of the three teachers. Joly let out a wail of distress and fell to his knees to check his giggling boyfriend over for cuts then dragged him off to the nurse. Courf grinned at Jehan as he also scrambled to his feet, raining plastic from the broken table. Enjy stayed sitting on the wreck, looking furious. 

Valjean sighed, “That’s coming out of your paycheck,” and left, Javert following, asking in undertone for permission to put Enjolras in detention.  
Grantaire ambled over, rubbing his hands and swigging from his silver hipflask as the students dispersed forlornly. 

“Never mind, Apollo. You still look glorious, even when you’re breaking tables and making no sense. God I wish I hadn’t left my camera in my room.”  
Jehan tried some tactful sympathy. “You got Valjean’s attention, at least?”

Enjolras finally stood, brushing off his red jacket with a customary frown. “Yes, that was noted, thank you Jehan.”

“You know what I think?” Courf looked up from examining one of the signs. “Not enough glitter on these, Enj. Maybe next time, eh?” 

Grantaire clapped Enjy on the shoulder, offered him a sip from his flask and wandered off chuckling when he was shoved away. Enjolras stormed off in the other direction. Jehan smiled back at Courf who was grinning at him, his heart beating very fast.


	4. Cosette

Cosette cleared her throat, silencing the girls giggling at the window. A stamp of her foot had them falling into line again.

“From the top, please.” She hit play on the stereo and watched them perform the routine again; she refused to give in. She knew what they’d been staring at. Who they’d been staring at. She knew Marius was visible in his room across the corridor, sitting next to Gavroche and patiently taking him through the chords of a guitar. She knew exactly how he would look, with his eyes calm and soft, a patient smile on his face, long fingers strumming the strings. She’d been staring for weeks, after all.

It was a struggle, but she kept her eyes on her class until the bell rang for lunch. She packed away the equipment, put on her grey leather jacket and locked the classroom up slowly, taking her time until Marius, conveniently, joined her in the corridor. 

She pretended not to have noticed how he’d rushed.

“Good class?”

“Yeah,” he smiled. “Gavroche’s getting the hang of it so fast, I’m a little jealous!” He laughed and her stomach flipped. She realised she was staring only when he cocked his head and smiled down at her.

“What?”

She was saved from having to scramble for some sort of answer by Bahorel throwing open the door to his Drama class at the end of the corridor and bawling “Hey Romeo and Juliet! Wait up!” They both went red and avoided each other’s eye for the rest of the afternoon.

***

“Cosette? Cosette, darling, we really ought to be going.” Her father called up the stairs the next morning, making her smudge her mascara.

“I’m coming Papa!” She hurried to clean it and start again.

“Cosette!”

“Coming!” 

Feeling like a schoolgirl again, she grabbed her bag, slipped on her favourite stilettos and rushed down the stairs, her pink dress fluttering around her ankles.  
“You look lovely, darling. Is there an occasion I’m forgetting?” he asked as he ushered from the house and down the steps to the car.

“No Papa.”

“Did Enjolras have another one of his protests? Did I forget about agreeing to fancy clothes on Thursdays, just to keep him from breaking any more tables? Because I’m really sick of all the broken tables, he’s destroyed 3 so far this year.” 

“No Papa.”

He spared her any further questions, though Javert, once she arrived in the staffroom, was not so unobtrusive.

“That’s not appropriate.”

“How is it not appropriate?”

“It goes against the dress code.”

“What dress code, the student’s dress code? It’s just a dress, Javert!”

“It is not an appropriate item of clothing for a professional.”

She looked to Enjolras for help. He had been frowning at Joly for being unable to listen to his ranting because he was sneezing – the daffodils in Jehan’s hair were setting off his allergies. He rounded on Cosette and rose to the occasion, straightening his jacket and jumping to his feet to deny her oppression.

“Miss Valjean isn’t defying the standard dress for teachers!”

“She is!”

Cosette let them argue and sat down next to Grantaire, who smirked as Enjolras began to wave his arms.

“You look very nice,” he told as he sipped at something that smelt too alcoholic to be pure coffee. “I’m sure Marius will be impressed.”

She blushed, but thankfully he didn’t look at her, choosing instead to continue leering at the back of Enjolras’ head. Opposite them Eponine seemed involved in staring at her coffee, so Cosette left, hoping to catch Marius, and his reaction, in private.

And she was glad that she did. His mouth actually dropped open when he saw her through the windows of their classrooms. Fighting down another blush, she motioned him to come across.

“Morning,” she greeted brightly when he opened the door, blinking rapidly. “How are you?”

“Fine… good, yeah, I’m good, thanks.”

“Great!” She took a few steps closer and a deep breath. “Listen, I’ve been thinking… I’ve not cleared it yet with Papa, but I’ve been thinking, wouldn’t it be a fantastic idea if we had our students collaborate on some group pieces? Across all year levels, since we teach them at the same time. It’s just, the music you guys are producing is sounding really good, and I think it would be a wonderful opportunity to get closer. The students. I mean. An opportunity for them to get to know each other. Better.”

He was gazing at her fervently and she didn’t want him to ever look away. “Yeah! Wow, that sounds great, fantastic. Brilliant.”

“Great, OK, good. I’ll talk to Papa about it at lunch.”

“Brilliant,” he breathed again. And by god were his eyes blue. And then the bell rang.

She was starting to hate that damn thing.

***

A few weeks later saw the students’ collaborative projects progressing well. Or at least, progressing. Kind of. They would gather in groups of 8, 4 of her dancers and 4 of his musicians, and spend their hour huddled in separate areas of the two classrooms. Bahorel was happy to give over his classroom during his free period too, which helped spread that year group out even more (this was handy since it was Gavroche’s, and that boy needed at least a classroom to himself at any given time.) Marius and Cosette would wander together from group to group, helping them figure what they wanted to do and how. At one point she realised she’d spent a whole hour leaning against his arm watching one group in particular, a beautiful combination of 4 ballet specialists with 3 violinists and a pianist. 

They’d both been watching so avidly and proudly that the bell had made them gasp and jump away from each other. Some of the students giggled, and Marius had retreated to his room, looking embarrassed.

She calmly gathered her students back to dismiss them, trying not to feel too disappointed. She liked him, and was fairly certain he liked her. But he’d made no move other than profuse blushing and stuttered compliments. Sighing, she decided not to linger today, unable to handle anymore unspoken, fragile moments of disappointed confusion. Slipping her iPod into her pocket and grabbing her bag, she left by her back door, not looking up to see him gazing after her. 

She hummed along to Oasis’ ‘Champagne Supernova’, ignored Javert’s howling from his classroom window that iPod’s were not allowed, but jumped in surprise when Marius grabbed her arm.

He was saying something, but so was Liam Gallagher, and she almost ripped out her silver hoop earrings pulling her ear buds free. 

“Sorry! What?”

He grinned sheepishly, “I said goodnight. And have a good… um…. night.”

“Oh, right, thank you, you too.”

And then he killed her brain by swooping down and kissing her cheek before practically jogging away towards the parking lot, nearly bowling over Eponine, who had witnessed the whole exchange. 

Who was she kidding? He was going to get away with being and shy and sweet and they would make barely any progress whatsoever. He’d kissed her cheek. He could take as long as he wanted, make her wait years for more, she was so totally OK with that.

***

The student’s projects were finally ready. For each year level, Marius and Cosette sat at the head of her class, watching one performance after the other, while the other groups waited nervously in his room across the hall, peering through the windows.

Gavroche’s group’s performance was… interesting… but Cosette couldn’t help but score them a little higher than they technically deserved, if for nothing else other than the ecstatically proud smile on Marius’ face. In fact, he wore the same smile throughout, eagerly applauding every performance with such enthusiasm and pride that she could barely look away from him. Of her dancer’s too she was proud, from the nervous, inexperienced 3rd formers right through to the practically professional-looking 7th formers.

They rewarded the kids with pizza at the end of every class evaluation, watching and laughing as the scoffed down food and giddily congratulated each other.  
By the end of the day Cosette wondered if both her and Marius’ faces would crack from smiling so happily. They headed to the drinks in the staffroom together arm in arm, feeling mightily accomplished, and settled in the corner to talk.

Courf came bounding over at one point, but Jehan called him and Cosette was surprised the speed of his direction change didn’t snap his neck.

Bossuet headed over to enquire about the projects, and leaned back on Joly’s chest as his boyfriend tutted quietly to himself about the questionable cleanliness of the glass he was holding. They filled him in happily about how well all the students had done, eager to share their joy, though their regalement was cut short when he managed to knock over not only his but also Marius’s bottle of beer.

As the boy’s cleaned up the mess Cosette caught sight of Eponine across the room, who suddenly tried to pretend she hadn’t been watching them by quickly turning to Combeferre. Cosette frowned, absently fiddling with the strap on her singlet, unable to help noticing the avid attention Combeferre was giving her friend. She grinned. Cute.

Marius stretched and sighed next to her and she turned back to him, smiling as he yawned and gave her a sleepy grin.

“Today was a good day.”

She nodded back, “Yeah. It was.”

Something shifted then, his gaze holding hers too long and her heart beginning to beat faster. Only it was ruined by a rather intoxicated Enjolras leaping onto the table and beginning to shout at Javert, and Grantaire grabbing him around the waist to haul him down.

“Oh no you don’t Mr. Martyr, now’s not the time for a soliloquy, and even though you’re hotter than normal when you rant, I’ve been watching it all day. Come on, I’ll drop you home. Marius?” He called over his shoulder.

Marius jumped and looked around wildly, and Cosette physically felt the moment break.

“Oh, right… right, yeah, coming,” he climbed slowly to his feet with an apologetic smile down at Cosette. “Grantaire’s my ride… I’ll see you Monday?”

She nodded firmly, determined not to let disappointment show.

“Yes. Monday.”

Her father called her not long after and she spent the drive home gazing out the car window, torn, as had become the norm, between elation and despair.


	5. Grantaire/Enjolras

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First half is Grantaire's POV, second is Enjy's

Grantaire was never one subtlety. Indeed, if someone actually had the presence of mind to ask him if he wanted Enjolras in that way, he would say yes, I want him in every way. But no one ever did, and he was too lazy to say it himself. Plus he wasn’t stupid. Politics loving, prince-like gods didn’t stoop to love less-than-ordinary mortals. And Grantaire, well, he was nothing special, the worst of men, really, and certainly not worth associating with, let alone loving at any rate. It was better the god not taint himself by interacting with him on any level other than his blustering at Grantaire’s teasing. 

Besides, the teasing was so much fun, as was simply staring at Enjy until he got so flustered that he slammed their connecting door shut and ranted extra loud at his kids. Grantaire was building things towards the latter right now, sipping coffee spiked with Irish Cream and watching Enjolras from the doorway.

Enjy was pacing, raving, waving his arms, getting worked up about something to do with France and politics and revolutions, Grantaire wasn’t really listening. It wasn’t interesting to anyone but Enjolras; he captivated his students by his oratory skills and his perfect looks, getting in their faces and gazing intently at them until their brains stopped functioning and they nodded agreement with whatever he said. Grantaire smirked when Enjolras finally paused and whirled to face him, giving up his pretence of not noticing his existence. 

“What. Do you. Want?” He snapped.

“You.”

Some of the students gasped, others shrieked, and one let out a triumphant shout behind him and started collecting money. It was probably Gavroche. Enjolras’ eyes widened. Grantaire adjusted his red beanie and took another gulp of his drink, then elaborated.

“I want my kids to study you.”

“What!?”

“Living, breathing Greek statue right next door, from the hair to the ass.” Grantaire grinned when Enjolras lunged forward hissing “Don’t talk that way in front of the students! Do you have no sense of propriety, for God’s sake Grantaire!”

“Oh come on, Enjy! All you have to do is stand still for five minutes, you can keep teaching. We’ll be real quiet, I swear! It’s a fucking sin not to draw you!”  
Enjolras got right up in his face then, and Grantaire smirked and wished he wasn’t holding his coffee so he could take advantage of that with some hip grabbing, but then Enjy was shoving him hard in the chest and slamming the door shut.

Grantaire yelped as he stumbled backwards, coffee soaking into his paint-stained green shirt, then shrugged. 

“Ah well, kids, maybe tomorrow. Go do something else then, I don’t know.”

“…We don’t have anything set, really, sir.”

“You don’t?”

“No sir.”

“Ah. Well. Just… draw – anything, I don’t care.”

He didn’t believe in forcing topics and themes and assignments and work onto them – creativity was born from genuine, personal motivation and self-belief, and affected everyone differently, at different times, in different moments of pure, dazzling inspiration. It wasn’t something to be taught. In a classroom. According to a curriculum. Despite that being technically what Grantaire was paid to do.

Opening the door again, he peeled off his wet shirt and threw it at Enjolras’ head. It hit him in the face and Grantaire laughed.

“This isn’t how I envisioned getting naked for you. Ah well. I’m going home to get a clean shirt, keep an eye on them for me Apollo? Thanks.”

Enjolras spluttered after him, “What?! You can’t leave! For god’s sake you’re not wearing anything!”

“I am too; I got pants on, don’t I? Wait, don’t I?” Looking down revealed he was indeed wearing an old pair of jeans, though he was barefoot. He replaced his beanie on his head too. That was two things. He drew the line at checking if he had underwear on in public.

He shrugged again, and headed to the door, “Be back soon.” He decided not to comment on Enjy’s red face; it was rage, nothing else, it was never anything else.

***

Enjolras threw Grantaire’s shirt on the floor with a scowl, and snapped at his students to stop giggling.

“Read chapter 3 and answer all the questions at the end by the time the bell rings.” They groaned so he continued, viciously “If you’ve not finished by the end of class, you'll stay until you have.”

They groaned again and he strode into the next classroom, leaving the door open.

Grantaire’s students regarded him with sly smiles. God they were so like him. He frowned.

“Well, you must all have work to be getting on with, then?”

He was met with a few shrugs – all Grantaire’s influence – and scowled at them until they started back to their easels or desks.

Feeling out of his depth, he straightened his shoulders and headed over to the nearest, peering over her shoulder at her work.

His eyes widened in surprise. It was a scene in watercolours, a field, a river, trees, the sky, purples and pinks and blues bleeding into greens and yellows and reds. It was amazing. She must have been working on it since the start of the semester.

“That’s amazing!”

The student blushed, “It’s not quite finished yet… but Grantaire likes it, too.”

He gazed at it awhile longer before wandering to the next student, working on a charcoal drawing of a horse that was so life-like it took Enjolras’ breath away.  
“Christ!”

The boy beamed.

Enjolras was staring at another student’s painting of water-lilies on a lake, looking not unlike a bloody original Monet, with his mouth hanging open when Grantaire returned, wearing a soft yellow shirt but still no shoes.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Enjolras jumped when Grantaire spoke from behind him. 

“It’s fantastic!”

“Step back a little. Looks even better from a little further away.” Grantaire gave the student a proud little smile. “Well done, Emily. If Apollo himself likes it, you should be very pleased.”

The girl laughed, and Grantaire continued to lead Enjolras around the room, showing him each student’s best with such pride and passion (“here, look at this one’s brushwork, it’s bloody perfect, he’s only 16! – look at this shading, she’s fantastic, everything she does is just so bloody beautiful, here look at the rest of her sketchbook – see the overlap here? Isn’t enough to make you weep, it’s so subtle!”), that it struck Enjolras to the core just as much as the skill of the artworks. He didn’t know what he wanted more of, the student’s pieces or the grin on Grantaire’s face.

He’d only just returned, albeit a little regretfully, to his own room when the bell rang. Several of the students remained sitting, looking sullen as they continued their work. He waved his hands absently at them, “Go, go on, you can go. It’s fine.”

He not-so-subtly managed to catch sight of Grantaire, who was ruffling his hair under his beanie and smiling at him through the doorway.


	6. Eponine

Eponine wasn’t sure why she did this to herself. 

Marius and Cosette had gravitated towards each other as soon as he’d entered the staffroom. What with their awkwardly adorable flirting, Joly fussing over a peaky looking Bossuet by the window with a thermos of soup, and Jean blushing as pink as his fuchsia jeans when Courf so much as looked at him, then trailing after him like a puppy when he left, Eponine really should have left immediately. Instead, she stayed sitting next to Combeferre, and was absolutely, determinedly, totally not watching Marius and Cosette gaze adoringly at each other so shyly and sweetly that she wanted to vomit. 

She dropped her head down on the table with a groan.

“Channelling Grantaire?”

Eponine actually huffed out a laugh.

“Come on,” Combeferre patted her head, “Time to go. I’ll walk you to class.”

“What a gentleman,” Eponine told him archly as they stood and left the room together. “It’s not as if you’re right next door…”

He smiled and raised an eyebrow, offering her his arm and raising his chin. “Of course not.”

Valjean sticking his head out the door and hollering after them made them turn.

“Hold on you two! I need to see you at recess to go over the field-trip OK?”

Combeferre nodded and waved back. Eponine smacked herself in the forehead.

“The field-trip! It’s next week! I totally forgot!”

She was taking her 6th form Geography students, along with Joly and his 6th form Bio class, on a three-day trip to a local mountain range. Combeferre was coming along too, as an extra handle on the kids. Javert had been complaining for months about the need to call in relievers. Threat to security, apparently.

“It should be quite fun. I’ve not had the time for hiking in god knows how long,” Combeferre murmured, eyes fixed on Courfeyrac, who had started up a game of football in the middle of the courtyard they were wandering towards, despite it not being allowed. Javert stormed towards them, bellowing, and they all scarpered. Courfeyrac hurtled over to Jehan, who had been dawdling past staring at the clouds, swept the smaller man up into his like a bride and bounded off towards the English block. Jean had the right to look terrified, but was instead giggling madly.

“It’s a good thing we managed to talk Courf out of coming along. Can you imagine?”

“You would be in charge of looking after him. I’ve got my hands fill with my own kids!”

“God. No. He’d be up the trees pelting us with twigs every five seconds. Or bloody swinging around like he’s Tarzan. Him and Gavroche let loose in a forest? I’d need a Taser.”

Eponine snorted and they laughed together until Marius and Cosette crossed their field of view, somehow managing to make their way to the Performing Arts block while alternately staring at each other and looking away and blushing. Eponine wanted to be sick. Combeferre gently put an arm around her waist and pulled her into her classroom.

***

She sulked all through her morning classes, giving both sets of students a video to watch on volcanoes despite the fact that neither class were studying them. She barely listened in the meeting with Valjean, instead staring out the window where Cosette was on recess duty in the courtyard and was joined by Marius, naturally, even though it had started to rain and he didn’t need to be there at all. She picked a different video for her next class, a vaguely appropriate one on hurricanes, and then spent her free period listening to Adele and watching videos of kittens online to distract herself. At lunch she was on duty herself, and shivered under the eaves while the students sulked around her, and Marius and Cosette shared an umbrella and waved together cheerfully to her from the other side of the courtyard, Marius calling out some sort of joke about the rain, Cosette beaming and looking sickeningly beautiful even in the dull weather. Eponine sulked through her last classes too, only realising half way through the last one that they actually had a test scheduled, not that she’d remembered to print and photocopy the papers. 

Things were crap, really, right up until Combeferre tapped on her shoulder as she was locking up.

She tried to smile, “Hey.”

He adjusted his glasses, “Alright?”

She shrugged, not bothered that he’d clearly picked up on the fact that she wasn’t.

He patted her head. “Come on, I’ll walk you to your car.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know, but if I don’t, Javert will try to. You know what he’s like about ‘safety issues.’ I’ve told him a million times that you’re the strongest, smartest person I know, but does he listen?” He shrugged and smiled and she suddenly couldn’t move, because she’d been sucker punched with the stark realisation that when he praised her was the only time she believed there was any good to her at all.


	7. Courf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The letter quoted by both boys was written by Keats to Fanny Brawne. Dude. Look them all up, his letters are adorable.  
> Oh and do please look up the flower meanings too. Hopefully you all find the same meanings I did and it makes sense...!

As soon as Courf got through the door of his flat and dropped his bike helmet on the table next to it he collapsed on his couch with a groan. Or at least he would have if Combeferre hadn’t had the same thought, and beaten him home.   
Courf was content to snuggle on Combeferre’s chest, but the bigger man shifted, yawned, and mumbled sleepily “Something for you. On the table.”

So Courf clambered off him, accidentally kneeing him in the stomach about three times, and stumbled into the kitchen. Exhausted after a day of tearing around on the field with 5 classes of teenagers, and his free period spent casually wandering back and forth past Jehan’s room, he rubbed at his eyes as he stared down at the table. It was a manilla package, tied with a piece of string that held a small posy of daisies and pink sweetpeas. His heart rose to throat and his tiredness seeped from him, replaced by an odd sort of nervousness. Courf didn’t get nervous. But the package could only be from one person – daisies, sweetpea flowers – and that made him inexplicable, immediately, horribly nervous.

“What is it, then?” Combeferre wandered into their little kitchen, stretching, and peering over his shoulder, “Looks like a book? What are those flowers there for?”

“I don’t know,” Courf whispered, touching one of the daisies. “Was it here when you got back?” 

“On the front step, yeah. No note. Looks like it’s Jehan’s doing though, with the flowers.” Courf thought he could hear a smile in Combeferre’s tone, but was too stunned to respond, or even look. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’m too tired to cook and I don’t want you trying ever again, plus I got a pile of essays to mark so do you mind if we just get Chinese in or something?”

Courf was still unable to react, so Combeferre merely touched his shoulder, scooped up the phone and went to his room.

How long Courf stood slowly stroking the petals of the flowers he didn’t know, but the sun was setting and the arrival of the food found him still stood, leaning over the table. He didn’t know. He didn’t know why he couldn’t breathe properly, why his heart was racing, what this meant. Combeferre lingered briefly in the doorway at some point and quietly told him his food was in the microwave because it had gone cold.

The sun had set completely, and Combeferre had made a reappearance to silently turn on the overhead light, by the time Courf’s trembling fingers found the courage to unbind the string and slowly place the flowers to one side. He peeled open the package. It was a book. ‘The selected letters of John Keats.’ He picked it up, his mind leaping back instantly to replay that conversation from a few months ago, for the millionth time. He recalled the delight in Jehan’s blue eyes as he’d talk about Keats, the sweet, affectionate tone with which he’d mentioned the letters. 

One page was marked by a lilac flower. Courf flipped to it. His eyes fell instantly to a few lines which were underlined in red ink.

“I wish you to see how unhappy I am for love of you, and endeavour as much as I can to entice you to give up your whole heart to me whose whole existence hangs upon you. You could not step or move an eyelid but it would shoot to my heart – I am greedy for you – Do not think of any thing but me. Do not live as if I was not existing.”

Tears welled and slid down Courfeyrac’s face, though it was again a long time before he gathered the book and the flowers up gently, stumbled to his room and crawled into his bed to clutch them to his chest and lay awake all night.

***

6am found him shivering on Jehan’s doorstep, still in yesterday’s clothes, clutching a handful of Jasmine that he’d stolen from somebody’s garden on the way over. He’d sprinted the whole way there and he was out of breath. It wouldn’t come back, he knew, until he could see Jehan’s face.

He knocked. Shivered. Cursed his own blind stupidity, his nerves, his decision to wait and play it cool lest he screw up their friendship, despite wanting the poet for years. Knocked again. Stared at the hand painted door, with its mural of anemones, gardenias, heather. Knocked without stopping until the door opened.  
Jehan was wearing a bright yellow sweater and a pair of red boxers covered in stars. His face paled and his sleepy eyes widened in surprised horror as he stared at Courfeyrac.

But before he could speak Courf shoved the flowers into his hands and choked at him.

“Perhaps you think of me all day. Have I any right to wish you to be unhappy for me? You would forgive me for wishing it, if you knew the extreme passion I have that you should love me –” 

He didn’t get any more out because Jehan kissed him, his hands, still clutching the flowers, were burying into his hair and Courf gasped and kissed him back and holy crap Keats was awesome.


	8. Marius

Marius didn’t know what was more of a surprise, walking into the staffroom and seeing Courf and Jehan making out in one corner, or Enjolras pacing around inbetween screaming at Valjean about rights and justice in another. It should really have been neither, in retrospect, but both events were a bit of a shock to the system at 8am.

“What’s going on?” he asked Eponine, who was giggling at both scenes. She jumped a little when he addressed her, but wouldn’t look at him. 

“Courf and Jehan, well, are a thing, obviously. Javert’s off writing a report about how relationships between the staff shouldn’t be allowed, but that’s probably only because he was so shocked seeing them kissing through Jehan’s classroom window the other day that he walked through an overflowed drain… Besides, everyone knows about Joly and Bossuet, though I think Javert’s let that slide because Joly is the only way who vaguely shares his ridiculous tendencies, and doesn’t think he’s a complete moron.”

“Wait Courf and Jehan have been going on for a few days?”

“Yeah. A few weeks, actually. Didn’t you know? Oh wait; of course, you don’t notice anything other than Cosette.” He blushed, recoiling at her tone.

She carried on, raising her chin and still not looking at him, voice a little high-pitched and odd, “Javert would be in here howling at Valjean himself about them, but Enjy beat him here. Enjy’s doing another protest today, something about the school ball being cancelled.” She twisted her mouth at the shame of it, but shrugged a shoulder. “We can’t afford it this year.”

Marius looked away quickly when Courf decided it would be a great idea pull Jehan onto his lap and pretty much start groping him. He directed his gaze instead at Enjy.

Valjean looked tired. Enjolras waved a finger in his face, “I will fight this to the last man!”

“… What men…?”

“… You’ll see!”

Enjy stormed off, and Valjean rubbed his eyes. Eponine disappeared too, so Marius wandered over to Feuilly.

“How’s it going?” The French teacher smiled back at him.

“Not bad. Damn shame about the ball, although Enjolras is being hilarious. I’m not sure he actually cares about how upset the students are though. Not sure he even notices. He just really, really likes to complain. And fight the man, as he puts it…”

“And stand on tables waving his arms….” They laughed, and Marius continued, “What exactly is the problem? Money?”

“Yeah. I think we can’t afford to rent a place, as well as catering and all that, I dunno…” Les Amis high school was a small school that struggled for funding in a big city.  
Feuilly wandered off with a brief goodbye and Marius rubbed his neck, contemplating the idea that had popped into his head, and determinedly ignoring the sounds of the couple behind him.

***

Marius lingered next to Valjean and Cosette, wincing in sympathy as the table Enjy was standing on rocked precariously under him. Jehan was quick to coax Courf down and Joly had forbidden Bossuet altogether.

From a few feet away, Grantaire pelted Enjy with peanuts, ignoring Joly’s horrified protests that he could cause serious damage, or that someone might have a nut allergy. The blonde didn’t seem to notice anyway, as he was too busy stamping his feet and howling at the students to join in his crusade.  
Valjean, to his credit, looked sad. “For once, I wish I could indulge in Enjy’s bloody demands. Because for once he’s right. This isn’t fair.”

“About that, sir, I have an idea… only don’t tell Enjy anything I’ve said… it might break his heart to think anyone other than him could do anything about this…”

Valjean was staring at him, eyes wide. So was Cosette, but Marius still hadn't mastered the art of being able to look at her without blushing.

“What do you mean an idea?”

Marius sighed, “I was raised by my grandfather, sir, Lord Gillenormand. He passed away a few years back and left me his estate. It’s got a ballroom. Two actually. And it’s fully maintained by the staff. You’re more than welcome to host the ball there, completely free.”

“You own la Barricader estate?”

“Yes,” Marius blushed. He’d hoped no one would find out about this. He had run away at 18, never went there, and refused to use any of the money left him for anything other than paying the staff. He preferred his own flat and his own income from his own job.

“Marius… that’s very kind… thank you.” Valjean was grinning and Cosette threw her arms around him and squealed “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” into his neck. Marius wrapped his arms around her, unable to wipe the grin from his face.

Valjean approached the wary looking Enjolras with his arms spread, “OK, Enjolras. You’ve won. I concede. We’ll have the ball!”

The students roared in delight, and Jehan used to opportunity for an eager make out session with Courf, until Javert dragged them apart.

It was only when Grantaire started pelting the back of Marius’ head with the rest of his peanuts (Enjolras had moved out of his range when he had climbed down weep in joy at his victory on Valjean’s shoulder) that he realised he was still holding Cosette. He kept calm, kept her there a little longer until Javert started screaming about public indecency all over again and literally chased him from the room.


	9. Enjolras

Enjolras watched Grantaire, frowning. His own students were working diligently on essays, while he himself marked the pop quiz he’d set them at the start of class. Or at least that’s what he would be doing, if the door wasn’t open and Grantaire wasn’t being so… Grantaire.

While his students sat around giggling and chattering, the art teacher seemed to be dozing at his desk, chair tilted back against the wall, eyes shut and head back, ear buds in and iPod on. He had his guitar on his lap, but his arms were folded behind his head. Enjolras really couldn’t comprehend it; the other man had a room full of students brimming with talent but no encouragement to release it. The wasted potential set his teeth on edge, but Grantaire’s blasé attitude and inadequate teaching was what pushed him too far. He strode into the room, fighting down his rage. 

“What the hell are you doing?”

Grantaire didn’t respond, and Enjolras actually saw red for a moment, as he reached out to yank the ear buds free and hurl the iPod across the room. It hit the wall with a thunk and the silence in the aftermath was deafening. Grantaire opened his eyes slowly and peered up at Enjolras.

“Sup?”

“I said: what the hell are you doing?”

“… What do you mean?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean!? You’re just sitting there doing shit-all while your students get nothing accomplished, as usual.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes and laid his guitar against the wall, free hand reaching for his cigarettes, “Piss off Enjy.”

Enjolras clenched his fists, threw the packet in the same direction as the iPod and leaned over the table, bringing himself down to Grantaire’s level.  
“Would it kill you to, oh I don’t know, do what you’re paid for and actually teach? We’re halfway through the year; I’ve not heard you actually direct one lesson. These kids are fantastically talented on their own but they’re young, they need guidance, encouragement, help. For God’s sake, give them something.”

Grantaire had straightened his chair up and was scowling at him now.  
“Shut the fuck up, Enjolras, seriously. I don’t want to hear it.”

“This isn’t about you! This is about them! They’re young; they’ve got their lives ahead of them! Now is the time to help them, cultivate their minds, their talent, get them on the right paths, so that one day they can be great and beautiful and change the world! They can do anything, go anywhere! Be anything they want to be! Don’t you get that? Don’t you care? Why the hell are you even here? Don’t you care?”

And then Grantaire broke his heart. He shook his head no, and made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Nup. Go on back to your world-changers, Enjolras. Go cultivate some minds. I’m not really interested in hearing anything else you’ve got to say.”

And then Enjolras broke his own heart, because he slapped Grantaire across the face.

They both froze. One of the students had screamed and even more had gasped and someone had whispered maybe they should go and fetch Valjean. Or Javert. But Grantaire and Enjolras both stayed frozen, until the former finally spoke, face still turned away, cheek reddening.

“Get the fuck out, Enjolras, I mean it. Get the hell away from me.”

But Enjolras couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. He couldn’t believe he’d just done that, it wasn’t OK, but he didn’t regret it because Grantaire pushed and pushed and fucking pushed him too far, too often.

Grantaire stood slowly, and Enjolras’ students fled back to their class while his own backed away to line the walls.

“Get out of my room, Enjolras.”

Enjolras swallowed hard and raised his chin. “Just listen to me-”

“No.” Grantaire stared at him like he was ludicrous, like he was wrong. “No. I don’t want to listen to you, Enjolras.”

“They’ve got so much potential-”

“I don’t care!” And Enjolras’ heart froze because Grantaire looked so adamant, but so unconcerned at the same time.

“I don’t care, Enjolras. I don’t care about their potential or their future or anything. I don’t give a fuck about any of them!”

“Don’t say that. You don’t mean that!”

Grantaire threw his hands up and paced a few steps away. “God do you know nothing? Are you not hearing me? You’ve had the room across for 3 years now, have you really not yet grasped the fact that I don’t give a shit? About anything? I’m not a good person, I’m not a good teacher and I. Don’t. Fucking. Care! You wanna know why?” He rounded back, got right up in Enjolras’ space with a finger in his face. “You wanna know why, it’s because life is fucking shit. Life is shit and you’re so fucking stupid and idealistic and blind that you don’t get it. They’re never going to amount to anything. None of them, never, ever. They’ll go to college, maybe, though art won’t help them there, and either way they’ll up in shit jobs. Maybe eventually they’ll get married, maybe have some kids, it doesn’t matter. They’re never going to get anywhere or be anything because that doesn’t actually happen. Not in real life. Why give them false hope? It’s only going to hurt them when they wake up one day and see reality for what it really is.”

“Grantaire… god you are such an asshole…” because it was true. Everything Grantaire was saying was the truth. But Enjolras’ couldn’t, wouldn’t back down, wouldn’t let him crush these children’s dreams and hopes and hearts. “You are such a fucking asshole. You don’t deserve to be here. You don’t deserve them. These kids are amazing, talented, beautiful. You’re not fit to even breathe the same air. You fucking useless piece of shit. You’re pathetic. You’re so fucking pathetic.”

Enjolras was shaking so bad and Grantaire was too, right in his face, both of them were shaking and the rage, the pain, the emotion was so high, so tense, that Enjolras was terrified he was going to lose it, going to leap forward and rip Grantaire’s face off.

But then Grantaire was snarling at him, and wheeling away to leave the room, striding past his students and slamming the door shut and it was only then that Enjolras realised he was crying.

***

He spent lunch slumped at his desk with his head in hands, unable to move or think or breathe. At some point, Combeferre had come silently into the room and laid a hand on his shoulder, Valjean had come and tried to find out what happened, Cosette had hugged him and kissed the top of his head. Javert had demanded a full report. He didn’t respond to any of them. It was only when his 5th formers had filed in quietly for their class that he had roused himself and tried to begin the lesson. 

The door slamming next door halted him, and he crept over to the connecting door to hear Grantaire return. But something was off in his voice. His tone, as he happily told his students he was going to teach them beer pong, was wild, delirious, happy. Grantaire was never happy. He pulled open the door slowly, and Grantaire whirled to face him.

“Ah! Apollo! Come to slum it, hmmm?”

“Oh god. What the hell have you done?”

“Nothing! I never do anything, isn’t that what you always say? You always say it, Enjy, always. I never do anything…”

Enjolras hurried the few steps forward to grab the smaller man’s shoulders. Grantaire grinned up at him, eyes hazy, and cheeks red. He reeked of alcohol.  
“Jesus Christ. What the hell is wrong with you! You’re drunk!”

“Nothing wrong with me, Enj, nothing at all. You see, I don’t care about anything. And if I don’t care, nothing can matter, nothing can fucking touch me. Nothing can hurt if I don’t let it. I’m invincible.” He leaned in to whisper the last part and Enjolras let go of him, reeling backwards at the alcohol on his breath. Grantaire took advantage of his freedom to sail over to his desk and throw himself onto his chair with a happy little laugh.

“Students! Enjolras thinks I don’t direct you enough, don’t give enough direction, hey, Enjy? So, my little loves, I want you to…I want you to… draw me a cow! Everyone draw a cow! No wait, no, what about… a goat! A goat! Or… maybe an alligator…” he paused to consider the best option, tapping at his chin, one hand reaching reflexively for his hipflask. Enjolras rushed over to snatch it away.

“Oi! That’s mine!”

“Grantaire just stop, OK, stop. You can’t be here, you’re drunk. You need to go home. Jesus I can’t believe you, what the hell are you thinking…”

“Don’t think, I never think,” Grantaire was rubbing at his forehead now, a pained expression on his face. Then he brightened. “Hey! I’m gonna draw you! Stand still, Enjy, m’gonna draw you, OK? Gonna draw you.” He fished a sketchbook from his desk, along with a ballpoint pen, and began scribbling all over the cover of it. 

“Grantaire, stop-”

“Shhhhhhh, m’drawing.”

Enjolras pulled it away, ignoring Grantaire’s wail at the line streaked over the cardboard. “Stop it Grantaire! If Valjean sees you like this you’ll be fired!”

Grantaire scowled up at him, “So? Isn’t that a good thing? Isn’t that what you want, Enjy? Didn’t you hear me before? I meant everything I said, and so did you. So did you. I’m useless, remember? Pathetic, useless, good for nothing Grantaire, better off fucking dead in a ditch because he doesn’t mind cultivate his babies…”  
“God. Look, I… you’re not useless… I…”

“I am. Useless. Pathetic. Not fit to kiss the ground at their feet. Not fit to be in the same fucking atmosphere as you, Enjy. Just fucking… hopeless.”

He buried his head in his arms, and Enjolras stared down at him in horror before telling the students in a strangled voice to join his own in the next room and shut the door. But of course, no one moved, except Grantaire who suddenly bolted upright and vomited into his rubbish bin.

Enjolras cupped his head, tears prickling his eyes, the beanie rough under his hand.

Grantaire looked up him then, his own eyes so dead and hollow. He whispered, “But I ain’t wrong, Enjy. I ain’t. They’ve got to learn. The hard way, maybe, or any way at all, any way it comes, that they’re shit and the world’s shit and it sucks and it hurts but it’s true.”

Enjolras stroked Grantaire’s dark, curly hair from his eyes, heart weak. “Who told you that? Where the hell did you learn that?”

The other man laughed a short, bitter laugh, full of self-loathing, “Learnt it the hard way. Long time ago. Hell it seems I’ve always known it, really.” He made a grab for his alcohol again, but Enjolras stuffed it into his jacket pocket and took both of Grantaire’s hands in his own.

“You are not useless, Grantaire. There’s as much beautiful, blindingly bright potential in you as there is in them.” He let go of Grantaire’s sweaty hands to pick up the sketchbook. He’d seen some of Grantaire’s pieces over the years. He was fantastic. 

Flipping open to the first page revealed a sketch of him in pencil, scowling. The next page was a coloured close-up of his face, each lock of his hair perfectly shaded, the sharpness in his blue eyes making him start. 

Every page was him. 

Sometimes just his jacket, or his eyebrows, or his hands. Sometimes only his ears, his elbows, his legs. Every page was him. The book was full. Enjolras’ breath was caught in his throat and his heart was hammering so fast he thought it would break out of his chest. He looked up at Grantaire again. The expression in his eyes was one Enjolras had never seen before, but never wanted to stop seeing ever again.

But slowly, it faded, as Grantaire rubbed his face, then pulled the sketchpad away and tossed it in his vomit filled bin with a shake of his head.

“No. It’s all shit. All I’m ever good for is fucking shit up. But that’s why… don’t you see that’s why… I can’t be near them, can’t get involved with them, can’t encourage them. I’ll ruin them. And I can’t… be any nearer to you than what I allow myself. A few seconds in the door way before you chase me off, a few jokes when you’re doing some stupid protest crap in the cafeteria, stare at you in all meetings… it’s all I can have, because I’m not going to let myself ruin you, taint you. Not you. You’re the reason I’m here. You’re the reason I’ve stayed, in this city, in this job, in this room. You’re the reason.” 

He took a strangled breath and carried on in such a rush, cheeks still red, eyes still hazy, but making more sense than a rambling drunk ever should.

“You’re perfect. You’re a god. I don’t just say it to annoy you, to try and make you blush or make you mad. I say it because it’s true. Why do you think I begged Valjean to let me have this room? Why do you think I can’t fucking breathe right or think straight or stop shaking when I’m around you? Why do you think I hate you so fucking much? It’s because I love you so fucking much. The minute you came striding into my life with your fucking jacket and your fucking hair, I’ve been so lost. Because I want you. Like I’ve never wanted anything. But I can’t have you. I knew that from the start. There’s no plane of existence upon which I could even possibly begin to be good enough for you, no universe in which you would ever want me the same way. I’m not stupid. I know what I am. I’m cynical and angry and bitter and rude and cruel and I drink far too much and it's starting to scare me because I’m starting to forget things and I’m waking up in my own vomit a lot and I’m not actually sure I can get through an hour without at least a sip and I think I might have a problem? But most of all, I know that I believe in you, in everything you say, everything you spout about potential and justice and freedom and love and changing the world. You’re right. You’re so perfect. But I’m nothing, no one, nobody. I can’t be like you; I can’t be what you need. Not even in my own daydreams do I get a second of happiness with you, and that’s no more than I deserve.”

Suddenly, Grantaire was standing, stumbling, tears on his cheeks, heading to the door, and Enjolras was reeling, but this couldn’t happen again, Enjolras couldn’t watch him walk away again. He lunged after him but Grantaire shook him off with surprising strength.

“I’m going to hand in my resignation.”

The students were all crying now, even Gavroche, who tried to grab at Grantaire’s sleeve but was brushed aside. Enjolras tried to open his mouth to speak, to call him back, but all that came out was a strangled moan. One of his girls begged him to do something, but for once he didn’t think he was capable of a damn thing. This was one person he didn’t know how to save, something he didn’t understand how and who and what to fight for in order to protect. 

Enjolras had just lost.


	10. Eponine

Eponine thought Joly was holding up rather well, all things considered. They were 2 days in to their 3 day field trip, and so far he’d only had three panic attacks. Granted, he was currently shrinking away from every leaf they passed in fear of a rash or an allergy, and was practically permanently surrounded by a cloud of insect repellent. 

But still.

The kids had also been holding up well too, barely complaining or misbehaving, and seeming to enjoy the forest, the fresh air and the exercise. She had had to coax Gavroche to calm down a lot on the first day, but thankfully the pace of the hike had made a dent in his energy level. They were definitely walking slower today, giving her and Joly more chance to point out the environment, her the erosion of the riverbank, he the stratification of the trees. Combeferre led them and kept Gavroche and his buddies from tearing too far ahead.

They stopped for lunch around 1, the kids piling their packs on the side of a lookout area and rushing to lean over the fence and peer at the waterfall next to them, taking photos and txting, giddy with excitement at having time off school, and, she hoped, the beauty of the scenery.

Eponine sat down next to Joly with a yawn, sipping from her water bottle and warning Gavroche he’d be banned from his x-box that weekend if he didn’t get his butt back over the safety rail right now. Combeferre finished organising the food and stretched before he sat opposite his fellow teachers. 

“Alright, Joly?”

“Yeah, I’m OK,” and Eponine turned to him, surprised to see his eyes were a little wet. “Just allergies. And missing Boss…”

Combeferre smiled comfortingly, and Eponine leaned her head on Joly’s shoulder.

“Well, we’ll be back tomorrow afternoon. Gavroche, get off there, I mean it!”

Combeferre glanced over his shoulder and chuckled as Gavroche tried to pretend he hadn’t been jumping up and down on the not terribly sound looking railing.  
“He’s a good kid, you know. You’re doing a great job, taking care of him all by yourself.”

Eponine blushed at the praise, uncertain how to respond. She feared the opposite, that she was too lenient on Gav, he was too wild, she was doing crappy job raising him, and that he would ultimately suffer for it.

“Thank you,” she murmured, as Joly let out a wail next to them because his phone had no reception, and then screeched and hurled himself behind Combeferre as a wasp buzzed past his face.

Combeferre threw his head back and laughed and gave Joly a one-armed hug around his shoulders. Eponine watched the sun glint red in his hair and laughed with him.

They reached the cabins around 4, and Eponine had to physically bar the students from the outdoor showers while Joly figured out a schedule and how long each student could be in there for. It was a long evening, working out plans, calming fights, getting a fire going, food cooked and sorting out who was sleeping where. By the time the kids were chased off to their cabins and Eponine could finally shower and eat, she was exhausted. She sat yawning in front of the fire eating lukewarm baked beans, scowling down at the mud caking her new trainers, and trying to pretend it was much later than 9.30pm. 

Combeferre settled next to her, and she jumped, not even noticing him return from confiscating Gavroche’s fireworks.

“Where did he even get these?” He asked, sounding genuinely impressed.

Eponine shook her head, “I have no idea! You still think I’m doing a good job with him?”

He smiled, “You’re doing a fantastic job. Perhaps he’s just very… resourceful?”

She snorted and he grinned, un-slinging his guitar from his back.

“Isn’t it heavy? You carry that, your pack and half the equipment.”

“Nah.” He unzipped the case and looked thoughtfully towards the cabins. “Should we let them back out? None of them are sleeping yet. We can have a sing-along.”

She shook her head, “If you let them out you won’t get half of them back in, and you’ll be the one scouring the forest for Gav. Besides…” she broke off, blushing, gazing determinedly down at her abandoned dinner.

“Besides what?” Since when was it possible to feel someone’s eyes on you?

The thought had been unbidden, and she hadn’t meant to start to say it at all. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was the surprise that she hadn’t thought of Marius once. Maybe it was the fact that Combeferre was sitting so close to her, and he played guitar, she didn’t know that. Maybe it was the fact that he was looking at her with his freaking eyes and she couldn’t swallow down the lump in her throat or calm the butterflies in her stomach. She looked up at Combeferre, and who the hell was Marius Pontmercy, because this man was something else entirely, something so fantastically kind and sweet and wonderful that she couldn’t even find the words to do him justice.

Maybe it was all of those things, or maybe simply sheer nerve, or stupidity, that made her say “If you’re going to sing, I want it to be just us. I don’t want them out here. I want to be the only one to hear you.”

His blue eyes widened, and she was frozen staring into them. 

Joly ruined everything, saved everything, by arriving then, coughing at the smoke from the fire and pouting down at his phone.

“There’s still no reception!”

“Any requests, Joly?” Combeferre’s voice was strained as he looked away, and something cold took root in her.

“Hmmm? Oh.” Joly dropped down next to them and thought for a moment. “Do you know ‘Falling Slowly’? From Once? Boss and I watched it the other day, it’s beautiful.”

Combeferre nodded, “I know it, yeah.”

He began to play, and Joly let out a sigh and stretched out on the ground, too happy thinking about Bossuet to even panic about the germs and dirt, gazing up at the stars. Eponine was sure they were lovely, but she drew her legs up to her chest, laid her head on her knees and watched Combeferre’s face.

He sang with his eyes downcast, voice soft and raw.

By the time he sang the last note Eponine was in love.

****

It took them awhile to get going the next morning, though it was probably all Eponine’s fault. She’d been hurrying after Gavroche with a bottle of sunscreen, but she’d be so distracted staring at Combeferre laughing as he and some of the student’s had kicked dirt over the fire pit that she’d run right into Joly’s back and sent them both sprawling on the ground. Joly had insisted on checking her for concussion, even though she’d assured him, blushing and dusting dirt from her pants, that she was fine. Combeferre had grinned, and Eponine’s stomach had flipped and it was 10 by the time they set out on the trail again. 

The kids were rowdier today, excited to be heading home, probably. Gavroche was especially frustrating, showing off and running ahead, refusing to heed Eponine or even Combeferre. The track was descending out of the forest now, the trees less dense and the river within sight and earshot alongside them. 

Gavroche took off further down the track with a handful of friends, and Combeferre swore and ran after them, threatening detention for a year.

Eponine sighed, rolling her eyes and exchanging a frown with Joly. Luckily the rest of the students were too tired to think of escaping, and meandered along behind them, content to sulk about blisters and be talked to about human impact and environmental management.

They’d just rounded a corner when they saw Pierre, one of Gavroche’s friends, hurtling back up the track towards them, his face white. 

“Miss. Thenardier! Miss. Thenardier! Gavroche’s fallen in!”

Eponine’s blood ran cold. She dropped her pack and bolted down the path, unable to process a single thought. The track widened and descended steeply at the next corner, and she practically skidded down it, running to the students gathered at the bottom. She could see instantly what had happened; the wooden safety rail was rotted, snapped away where her brother had probably been using it as a ladder to climb to the tree overhanging the river. A grassy bank fell a few metres before it met the water. She reached the crying students and almost shoved them all into the river too, in her haste. There, in the churning water, was her baby brother, fighting the current that was dragging him further downstream, his pack weighing him down. 

Eponine screamed and began to cry, Joly’s arms around her waist the only thing keeping her sane.

“It’s OK! It’s OK, look, Eponine, Combeferre’s there!”

And he was too, her Combeferre, divested of his packs and his jacket, swimming after Gav. He reached the boy and wrapped an arm around him, disentangling him from his pack and pulling his head back onto his shoulder. Eponine let out another wail, of relief this time, as Combeferre dragged them both towards the shore. 

She skidded down the bank to them, Joly beating her there and helping Combeferre push Gavroche into her arms. She collapsed to her knees in the shallow water, cradling him to her and crying into his hair, relief coursing through her. She rocked him, and he was crying too, shaken and shocked, clinging to her ribcage.  
It took a while, but she calmed enough to relinquish him to be draped in Combeferre’s jacket and subjected to Joly’s unneeded medical kit and worried squawking, his friends crowding around him. 

Combeferre held out both hands and helped Eponine to her feet and smiled so softly at her tears that she threw her arms around his waist and buried her face in his chest to cry again. He was soaking wet and shivering, and water was dripping from his hair down the back of her neck but she clutched him and trembled and sobbed thank-you-he’s-all-I-have-he’s-all-I-have-he’s-all-I-have-he’s-all-I-have over and over.

***

It was later than it should have been when they arrived at the car park and loaded everything and everyone onto the bus, Eponine not letting go of Gavroche’s hand. She bundled him up in her own sleeping bag and he slept on her shoulder the whole 4 hour trip back to school, damp hair plastering to her neck. She turned and kissed his head a lot.

She rushed him into the car and switched the engine and the heater on as soon as they got to school, before turning to help Combeferre to sort out packs and make sure everyone had a way of getting home. Joly was being eagerly greeted by Boss, who had been waiting in the parking lot for them, and who had somehow managed to trip over a cooler and fall into his boyfriend’s arms as soon as he’d stepped off the bus.

Combeferre stopped her as she ducked around the back of the bus to pull out the last few backpacks.

“Hey, don’t worry about it, get the little chap home.”

She smiled tiredly back at him, “He’s fine for now. I want to help.” Sighing, he picked her up around the waist and carried her a few feet away. “No. Go away. Go home!”

She laughed as he put her down, then grabbed his hand as he turned back. He looked down at her, and she wondered why he always only ever seemed surprised when she touched him.

“Thank you, again, for Gavroche. God I felt so useless but I couldn’t even move… if it hadn’t been for you…”

“Joly was on his way in too,” his voice was so calm, so calming. “Even if I hadn’t been there, Gav would have been fine.”

And again, she’s not sure why. She thinks it’s maybe that he’s holding her hand in both of his. Or the way his auburn hair fell into his eyes. Or that he was the loveliest person on the planet. Or that no one had ever cared so much. Ever. Or that she was in love. She was in love with him. But for one of those reason, or all, all at once, she surged forward and kissed him, standing on tiptoes and clinging to his shoulders.

She didn’t know what she’d expected in response. Not that she’d done it consciously at all. But she didn’t expect to be pushed away so roughly. She didn’t expect his eyebrows scrunching in confusion, his eyes suddenly cross.

“What on earth are you doing?”

“I…”

“What about Marius?”

“I don’t… I don’t even care about Marius… It’s you…”

He shook his head at her. “No. you don’t get to do this. You cry on my shoulder for months about how you’re head over heels in love with him. Then all of a sudden you’re kissing me? I thought we were friends. Just friends. That’s all I’ve told myself I could have of you for months. Your friendship. That’s all. And now? What? You don’t love Marius anymore, all of a sudden? Is that what you think love is? Something you can change on a whim, in a day? Marius doesn’t want you, doesn’t see anything other than Cosette, so you’ll try it on with me? Because I’m here? Because I’m available? No! You don’t just fall out of love like that! That’s if you ever were, which I now doubt. I doubt you know anything about it at all.” 

Then he strode away.

She drove home in shock, stopping to buy pizza because Gavroche woke up and used his big blue eyes to full effect. She watched over him as he sat at the kitchen table and ate almost the whole thing himself, paced outside the door while he showered, not wanting to be alone, wanting to pretend Combeferre and the car park hadn’t really happened. She crawled into Gav’s bed once he’d fallen asleep, buried her face in his scruffy gold hair and clung onto him as hard as she could. 

He was all she had.


	11. Combeferre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poem is a verse from Keats, I forget the exact poem because I am a fail.

Combeferre sighed as he flopped onto the couch, rubbing his eyes.

He needed distracting, but of his three best bets, Courf was over at Jehan’s. Grantaire was still in rehab. And he could hardly call Eponine, since she was what he needed distracting from.

Eponine. The thought of her had his stomach twisting. He couldn’t bear to recall the hurt on her face when he’d snapped at her in the parking lot those few weeks ago.

But he just didn’t understand. Why had she said she wanted him?

He dug his phone from his pocket and called Enjy, deciding his best mate was the wisest choice.

It wasn’t.

Enjy didn’t say anything, wouldn’t say anything to anyone, but he was heartbroken. 

He spent a lot of time sitting on Combeferre and Courf’s couch, but not in the position Combeferre was in now. Enjy would sit with his back straight, arms folded and one leg crossed over the other, resolutely staring at the wall, frozen like a marble statue of Apollo.

Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Combeferre waited for him to pick up. When he did his voice was cracked and weak. He’d been crying.

“Hey Enj. You OK?”

“Yeah.”

“Come round?”

“Yeah. OK.”

Once Enj was settled on the sofa, in his usual position, Combeferre took a seat on the coffee table, facing him.  
Enjy frowned, mouth twisting, avoiding his friend’s gaze.

“What?”

“We gotta talk mate. About Grantaire. It’s been almost two months. Talk to me?”

Enjy stared at the wall, blue eyes cold. “There’s nothing to talk about. He’s gone. To rehab. I hope with all my heart he’ll be OK. That’s it. There’s nothing more to say. As if you’re one to talk, you’ve been avoiding Eponine like the plague since the trip.”

“That’s different,” Combeferre shifted uncomfortably.

“It’s not! It’s the same.”

“Oh yeah? So he kissed you? After he’s been pining for someone else all year he turned around all of a sudden and kissed you? Maybe it’s the same that he told you something you weren’t ready to hear, because you didn’t think it was possible, but that’s where the similarity ends. You’re so full of shit sometimes, Enjolras, I swear. Grantaire’s been in love with you since you came to the school. Eponine’s been in love with Marius since he came to the school. Not me. It’s not the same thing.”

Enjolras scowled at him, “Oh fuck you!”

“It’s true! Grantaire’s nuts about you, god knows why, you’re such a dick to him.”

“As if you weren’t an ass to Eponine!?”

“That’s totally different! Eponine doesn’t like me, she was just emotional about the lad, she was tired, wasn’t thinking straight.”

“Oh as if, she looks at you like the sun shines out your ass.”

“Oh, same way Grantaire used to look at you then? Before you drove the poor bloke to a fucking breakdown.”

Enjolras flinched away, and Combeferre knew he’d struck too low.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” But there were tears in his friend’s eyes already, and maybe they’d been there all along, since he’d arrived, or maybe they’d been there for 2 months, and his face was pale with guilt.

Combeferre leaned forward and grabbed his shoulders, made Enjy look him in the eye.  
“I’m sorry, Enjolras. That wasn’t what I meant.”

“No you’re right, you’re right,” Enjolras gasped. “It’s my fault. I drove him to it. I did. It’s my fault.”

Combeferre wrapped his arms around his friend and hugged him to his chest. Enjolras began to sob on his shoulder.

Then Courf walked in. Actually, Courf booted the door almost off its hinges and skipped in. And he was carrying a bouquet of pink and purple aster and sighing dreamily.

His face fell when he took in the scene, and he scrambled over the couch with a wail of concern to drape himself on Enjy’s back, flowers falling loose into their laps.

“Are you two OK? What’s going on?”

Enjolras’ shoulders were shaking from his crying, so Combeferre spoke.

“Things are just a little rough right now, Courf. About Grantaire. And Eponine,” he admitted.

Courf, bless him, looked so confused.

“Why?”

Enjolras, despite all the time he spent with Combeferre, never could control himself. He yanked away, sent Courf sprawling back again the couch and turned on him with a hiss.

“What do you mean why?”

Courf, bless him, blinked. Then he opened his mouth and said the smartest thing, the simplest thing, Combeferre had ever heard him say.

“I don’t understand why you say it’s rough when it’s actually really not. Enjy, you’re in love with Grantaire. He’s in love with you. Eponine’s in love with Combeferre – no not Marius, you, Combeferre, shut up about Marius – and you’re in love with her too. What’s so wrong, so rough, about that?”

“It’s not as easy as that, Courf-”

“Yes it is,” Courf said airily, climbing back over the couch and pulling out his phone to txt Jehan that their friends were idiots. And that he was hot. He turned back to them from the doorway, Combeferre still sitting on the coffee table, Enjolras still on the couch, neck twisted awkwardly to gape over his shoulder.

He recited  
“Love is more thicker than regret,  
more thinner than recall,  
more seldom than a wave is wet,  
more frequent than to fail.  
It is most and mad and moonly,  
and less it shall unbe,  
than all the sea which only,  
is deeper than the sea.  
Love is less always than to win,  
less never than alive,  
less bigger than the least begin,  
less littler than forgive.  
It is most sane and sunly,  
and more it cannot die,  
than all the sky which only,  
is higher than the sky.”

Then he grinned at them again, blew them each a kiss and disappeared to his room.

Enjolras leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes with a sigh, a few pink flowers falling to the ground from his lap.

“Combeferre?”

“Hmmm?”

“Is it really that easy?”

“You know… I actually think it might be.”

***

Yet, it was harder than it should have been for Combeferre to knock on Eponine’s door half an hour later. It wasn’t hard at all for Gavroche to slam it in face, but Eponine came running when she heard the sound.

“What on earth are you doing now, honestly, Gavroche, can I not turn my back for 5 minutes without you breaking something, I’ve got a pile of tests to mark – oh.”

She stared at Combeferre, wide-eyed and shocked for a long moment, pulling back the hood of her grey sweater. Then, to his delight and Gavroche’s disgruntlement she shooed her brother inside and stepped out, closing the door behind her.

Combeferre took a deep breath, and then slowly said, “I owe you a massive apology. I was a complete asshole to you that night. I’m so sorry.”

And she, for some unknown but awesome reason, was smiling at him. “It’s OK. I understand. I know I was crazy over Marius. It’s just… I didn’t know how to say it, I still don’t really, but that was nothing compared to you. He’s nothing compared to you.”

He shook his head, “I thought it was only in my dreams I’d ever hear you say that. I thought he had you hook, line and sinker.”

“He doesn’t.”

He took her hand, let his thumb slide over her knuckles, “For the longest time I convinced myself you could only ever be my friend. Would only ever want to be my friend. I’m sorry I made you wait so long. But now I don’t think I can go another second without knowing for sure that we’re more than that?”

There were tears in her eyes, and she let out a giggle as she wiped them with her free hand, and nodded, “You’re worth the wait. We’re more than that.”

He grabbed her around her waist and would have kissed her, except Gavroche thought that would be the opportune time to dump a bucket of water on Combeferre’s head from the upstairs window.

“That’s what you get for making my sister cry!”

Eponine jumped back with a screech and a laugh, but her hand stayed in his, and she reached back for the door handle.

“Perhaps you’d better come in? To dry off. And, um, we can explain to him… that it’s OK?”

He nodded, smiled, and she let him in.


	12. Enjolras

The bright sunlight streaming into the room did nothing to alleviate Enjolras’ mood, though that was nothing new. The students got on with their work quietly, as they had for the past 3 months; Enjolras didn’t bother to talk to them anymore. They never listened anyway.

He sat at his desk instead, gazing around the room, studying the wall, staring at his hands. He’d look towards the adjoining door to the now-unused classroom next door a lot, out of habit. It chilled his blood every time he saw it shut, every second, every day.

He hadn’t spoken to Grantaire since that day. Hell, he’d barely spoken to anyone. Even Combeferre struggled to get anything from his best friend. But it was better that way, Enjolras knew, better he barely spoke, better he not risk hurting anyone ever again the way he’d hurt Grantaire. How stupid he had been, how blind, how self-absorbed. 

He ran a hand through his hair as his eyes stung again. He’d never this out of control before, and for him this was out of control; emotional, tired, quiet. Heartbroken. Out of control. The rants were normal to him, and passion, enthusiasm, determination, were as second nature as breathing. But Grantaire had taken all that when he left. And Enjolras didn’t think he was going to get it back. How fitting that Grantaire had ruined him just as bad, just as much as he’d ruined Grantaire. 

The bell rang and he waved a hand to dismiss the class, and then waved it a little more emphatically to make sure they’d noted the homework on the board. He followed them out and locked up behind him, stepping out, blinking, into that ridiculous sunlight.

Delighted shouts assaulted his ears, and he turned to watch a pile a students, Gavroche in the lead, pelting into the courtyard, screeching.

“Grantaire! Grantaire!”

Enjolras froze.  
It was him.

Grantaire stood in the middle of the courtyard, facing the Social Sciences building, plainly dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt, his beanie on his head, a bag and his guitar at his feet.

Gavroche threw himself into Grantaire’s arms and their laughter echoed as others pressed in around the former teacher, plying him with questions and vying for his attention. 

Combeferre’s voice and hand on his shoulder broke through Enjolras’ shock.

“Enjy?” He was standing behind him, one arm around Eponine, and Enjolras turned to them, uncomprehending. They gazed back at him, Eponine’s eyes worried, Combeferre’s gentle. 

“Breathe Enjy. Breathe. Take a breath. Come on now, mate.”

Enjolras did so, forcing air into his constricted throat, one shuddering breath before he strode towards the mob of students. 

Combeferre’s arm stayed around his shoulder and Eponine was holding his hand and murmuring to him, but he couldn’t understand her because Grantaire was looking up at him, smiling weakly, and nothing else existed.

“Hey, Enjy.”

And then Enjolras was hugging him, clutching him as tight as he could, face pressed into his black curls, shorter now, rucking up his red beanie. But he could barely feel Grantaire’s hands on his back, and the shorter man stepped away as quickly as he could.

***

Enjolras didn’t quite get how but suddenly he was sitting in the staffroom, Combeferre’s hand in his under the table to try and keep him calm, watching as Cosette wept in happiness, and Courf tackled Grantaire onto the table with a crow of delight, and Joly’s face almost split with his gleeful grin. 

Enjolras clung to Combeferre’s hand as Valjean managed to coerce them all into sitting and shutting up after about ten minutes of his own triumphant, euphoric cheering. Enjolras’ ears kept roaring even when the din settled.

Valjean beamed at Grantaire, “The prodigal son returns! Are you happy to start back tomorrow?”

“I can start now, if you like. I’ve missed this place,” Grantaire laughed and wild hope surged through Enjolras.

“The students will be pleased! I’ll go clear things with the reliever. I think she’ll be pleased too. Gavroche didn’t make it easy for her. He… well… objected… to your departure. Often. Loudly.”

Eponine rolled her eyes, “Seriously, you have no idea.”

Enjolras couldn’t contain himself anymore, bursting out “Will you come back to your old room?” before he could pause to think. Not that he’d been able to since Grantaire had left. 

Combeferre’s hand tightened in his, and all eyes were flicking between him and Grantaire, a tense trepidation in the air. 

Grantaire was the only one who wouldn’t look at him, “No, I don’t think so. It doesn’t have the facilities I need to teach Art.”

Combeferre was practically breaking his hand now, but Enjolras couldn’t stop, couldn’t shut up, couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“What? But… but that’s never mattered before?”

Grantaire’s eyes were burning into the table, “Well. Things are different now.”

“No! They’re not!”

Combeferre leaned in then, putting his face between Enjolras and Grantaire, forcing his friend to focus on him, whispering, “Enjolras. Stop.” His blue eyes were desperate, pleading, “Stop. Just… don’t.”

So Enjolras threw his chair backwards, wrenched away from him and practically ran from the room.

*** 

An hour later found him slumped on his desk with his head in his hands, ignoring his students and trying not to cry, when he snapped. He couldn’t bear it anymore.

He jogged across the courtyard to the Art block, threw Grantaire’s new classroom door open and hauled him out into the corridor before either of them really realised what was happening.

“Enjolras! What the hell!” Grantaire shook him off, wide-eyed and dishevelled, but Enjolras grabbed him again and kissed him.

Grantaire went still in arms and Enjolras pressed forward desperately, not knowing any other way to convey how he felt, though he made the attempt to pull away and gasp “I missed you,” as he buried his face in Grantaire’s shoulder. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Grantaire didn’t respond, his arms clamped by his sides under Enjolras’ embrace, face turned away.

“I didn’t hear from you,” he said in a strangled voice. “Not a letter, not a call, not a txt, nothing. Not once.”

“I couldn’t… I didn’t understand until I saw you again,” he pulled away and cupped Grantaire’s face, dragged him in and kissed him again. “I didn’t understand how I felt. How badly I need you. Please, god, come back. Come back to me. I need you to come back to me, please. I love you.”

Even as he said the words he knew what Grantaire’s response would be. Cold dread locked him down even before Grantaire whispered, “No,” pulled free and went back inside, locking the door behind him.

Combeferre, god knows how he’d got there, where he’d come from, how much he'd heard, caught him as his knees gave out, muffled his sobs with his shoulder and dragged him away.


	13. Marius

Marius hated this place. The marble staircases, the marble floors for that matter, the heavy red drapes, the gold embellishment on everything. He’d always hated it. And yet this was where he’d grown up, spent his formative years, been trained into his grandfather’s ideal of the perfect gentleman. 

He was more than a little proud that he’d run as fast as could, as far as he could, as soon as he could.

Except he was back now, and the only good about it was that Cosette looked even more beautiful than she always did, flitting around in a pale gold dress, taking photos and dancing with the students. Marius watched her, rather subtly he thought, from behind one of the Doric style pillars that marked each corner of the room. Courfeyrac didn’t seem to agree that it was subtle at all though, what with his pointing and laughing from a nearby table. Luckily Jehan, who looked… fascinating… in a lavender suit, dragged his boyfriend out on the balcony, already reciting poetry about the stars.

Gavroche ran past giggling, having swiped Combeferre’s cellphone from his jacket pocket as he’d been dancing with Eponine. Marius snagged him by the lapel and took it from it, then sent him on his way and threw the phone back to Combeferre. Combeferre caught it with a grin and called “Thanks, Marmar,” before dipping Eponine, who was laughing helplessly and looking happier than Marius had ever seen her.

Marius rolled his eyes at the nickname and their adorableness, and headed over to where Enjolras sat. The blonde man looked miserable, though that was hardly new.

“You doing OK, Enjy?”

Enjolras didn’t respond, merely continued to sulk with his chin on his hand as he stared across the room at Grantaire, who was resolutely not coming within ten feet of him, avoiding his gaze, and generally pretending he didn’t exist, although he looked just as distraught himself.

“I love him.”

Marius patted his shoulder, “I know. You both just need a little more time.”

Enjolras didn’t respond, so Marius gave his shoulder one more squeeze and wandered over towards the drinks table. He came just within earshot of realising Feuilly was trying to convince Javert the punch wasn’t spiked – seriously, where did that guy get those creepy ideas? – when a hand landed on his arm.

Valjean beamed at him, then slung an arm around his shoulders.

“Marius! Walk with me.” It wasn’t a request. Marius let himself be dragged down the staircase to the ground floor and out the patio doors, feeling sickeningly nervous.

They headed down the steps into the garden, and turned together to wave when Courf called a greeting as he hung over the side of the balcony to pluck a few wisteria for Jehan. Bossuet was with him, evidently trying to do the same for Joly, though he needed at least two pairs of hands on his arms to keep him from falling off. 

Valjean waited until they were wandering along one of the garden paths, lined with topiaries, marble statues and fairy lights, before releasing Marius.

“Marius. Marius Marius Marius. How long have you been in love with my daughter?”

Marius went white. Then red. “Um?”

Valjean smiled kindly at him and patted him on the cheek. “Now now, no need to be embarrassed.”

“I… I… Um… a long time… Sir…”

“That’s what I thought! And yet, you haven’t done anything about it!”

“Well I… I mean… I’m nowhere near good enough for her… And she’s just… so perfect…”

“No, you’re not. And yes she is. Yet, tonight she asked me if I thought you would like her dress. When I didn’t respond within 5 seconds, she changed. Then she changed eight more times. Eight. More. Times. Which is unusually excessive, even for her. But, I should be used to it. Because every day she asks me the same thing. ‘Will Marius like what I’m wearing, d’you think?’ Usually, there’s only around three outfit changes. And this isn’t counting the amount of times she redoes her makeup or rearranges her hair but you know what, that’s beside the point. Do you know what the point is, Marius? She likes you. And you’re a good guy. I’m tired of seeing my baby girl pine after someone who doesn’t even have a reason for not being with her! So go ask her to dance! Before I hit you! I don’t want to have to hit you, Marius.”

“I… Um…what?”

“Just go,” Valjean gave him a push and Marius headed back to the manor feeling more than a little dazed. 

Cosette met him on the outer stairs, breezing down to him like an angel, her hair loose and fanning behind her. “There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

“I’m in love with you,” Marius blurted out.

Her eyes went wide and she started to smile, but a shout of “I’m not getting down until you listen to me. I love you. I love you and I know you still love me too,” immediately followed by a crash interrupted any response. 

Marius grabbed her hand on instinct and they hurried up the marble stairs to find the students and teachers gathered around one of the tables in the centre of the ballroom. Enjolras, who had apparently been standing on it, was clambering to his feet in a shower of mahogany, a sign proclaiming his love for Grantaire still clutched in his hand. He rounded on Courf, who was lying, giggling, behind him on the pile of broken wood.

“I told you I didn’t need your help!” He probably would have lunged at him except Grantaire pushed his way forward and kissed him. Enjolras dropped the sign on Courf’s head, wrapped his arms around Grantaire and kissed him back and finally all was right in the world.

The room exploded in cheers and shouts. Combeferre started wolf-whistling, but Eponine evidently thought a kiss of their own was a much better celebration. Joly was checking a beaming Bossuet over for splinters despite their being on the other side of the room. Javert was actually smiling, and behind him Gavroche was spiking the punch. Courf slyly pulled Jehan down into his arms so he could make out with him on the debris, the sign obscuring their faces, and luckily also their hands, from view. 

Marius ran his free hand through his hair and sighed. Next to him, Cosette covered her smile.

“That table… it looked quite old… was it an antique?”

“Yes.”

“One of a kind?”

“Yes.”

“Ah. Well, if it’s any consolation, I love you too?”

The grin that spread on his face was mirrored on hers and finally, finally, he picked her up, span her around and kissed her and not even Valjean hurtling past them to stop Javert from practically executing Gavroche made them break apart.


End file.
